ALL ALONG THE WATCHTOWER
by Rebel8954
Summary: You need to read HERO'S CHOICE & REUNIONS (in that order) in my Hercules fanfiction. It will be less confusing if you do so. CHARACTERS: Jim Ellison, Blair Sandburg, Vincent Hunter, Iphicles. SEQUEL TO CROW ON THE CRADLE.


**ALL ALONG THE WATCHTOWER**

As a general rule, Captain Vincent Hunter of the Washington DC Police Dept. hated surprises. And surprises were the furthest thing from his mind when he answered his office phone. "Hunter."

"Vin, buddy! How are you?"

"Don't call me Vin." Hunter leaned back in his chair and rubbed his forehead. "What do you want, Kevin?"

The voice on the other end of the phone happily laughed. "I'm in town for a little while and thought I'd check and see if you're available for lunch."

Hunter's eyes flashed to his appointment calendar. "If lunch can be at 1:30, yes. Otherwise, no."

"Works for me. How about Fresca's? I'm in the mood for Italian."

"Fine." Hunter abruptly hung up his phone. "Shit," he muttered. "I do **not** need this now...or ever for that matter." Grabbing a thick file folder, he got to his feet. He flung open his office door and walked past his assistant. "I'll be in Interrogation Room Seven interviewing Officer Gordon."

Hunter easily heard the "yes sir" reply. It was a little harder, but he also heard the "poor bastard" comment.

Fresca's was somewhere between the stereotypical idea of an Italian restaurant and an up-scale trendy version of a stereotypical Italian restaurant that Hunter avoided like the plague. Fortunately, the lunch crowd already dispersed making it easy to pick out the man he knew as Kevin Coren sitting in a booth, happily eating lasagna.

"Hey! You look great. Sorry about not waiting, but I missed breakfast this morning."

Hunter ignored him as he slid into the booth opposite the eating man. Glancing up at the approaching waitress, he ordered, "I'll have a Garden salad with Russian dressing and ice tea."

The waitress nodded and walked away.

"Is that all you're having?" Kevin protested. "It's my treat."

"I never eat a heavy lunch," Hunter explained.

"Vin, you've got to loosen up a little," Kevin urged.

"Don't call me Vin."

Kevin sighed and sipped his coffee. "Well, I can't call you Vincent. It reminds me of the character on that silly television show. What was it called? Beauty and the Beast?"

"I wouldn't know," Hunter shrugged.

"And I can't call you Hunter." Kevin took another bite of lasagna. "I work sometimes with a guy with the same last name. Surly son-of-a..." He stopped as the waitress brought Hunter's salad and drink. When she left, he suddenly smiled. "In fact, you guys could be related."

"We're not," Hunter assured him as he speared a tomato wedge with his fork.

"How do you know?" Kevin asked with amusement. "I don't really see any resemblance between you two, but it could be possible."

"No, it couldn't." Hunter took a drink of his tea and grimaced.

With a smile, Kevin slid several sugar packets across the table. "And you just don't look like a 'Vince'." He ignored Hunter's raised eyebrows. "So since I can't call you Vincent or Hunter **or** Vince, I have to call you Vin."

"What's the purpose of all this?"

Kevin inwardly sighed. "Down to business, huh? Okay. I need a favor."

Hunter stared at the man sitting across from him for a couple of seconds. Then he put his fork down. "And I owe you, right?" he coldly pointed out. A quick memory came to him of a dark night…a lonely park bench…and a loaded gun in his hand.

This time, Kevin loudly sighed. "Vin, I told you...I **promised** you that I would never ask you to do anything illegal or against your ethics. Remember?"

Hunter sat back and studied the other man. Kevin's dark eyes were open and unshadowed, and he met Hunter's stare with quiet patience. "People promise a lot of things."

Kevin slowly nodded. "And sometimes they lie. Now I'm not saying I've never lied." He suddenly grinned at a long distant memory. "But I didn't lie to you."

"What do you want?"

Kevin half-frowned. "I need you to keep an eye on someone who'll be arriving in DC tomorrow. For reasons I can't go into, it's critical that he stay alive. I just need you to make sure of that."

"Who is it?" Hunter asked with only a flicker of curiosity.

"Blair Sandburg."

"Sandburg!" Hunter couldn't hide his surprise. "What do you have to do with **him**?"

"You know him?" Kevin asked, equally surprised.

Hunter paused. "You didn't know that I've met him."

"No, I didn't." Kevin irritably growled. _'Herm's going to have to do some fancy explaining. I can't operate on faulty information!'_

Hunter took pity on the other man. "He's from Cascade, Washington...which I'm sure you know."

Kevin scowled at the mocking tone of voice.

"I went there recently to transfer a prisoner back to the District." Hunter explained. "Interesting man."

"You don't know the half of it," Kevin muttered. He pushed his plate away. "I'm going out on a limb here and guess that you were your usual charming self."

Hunter shrugged. "I didn't have any problems with Sandburg. Why is he so important to you?"

Kevin ran a hand through his thick dark hair. "He could be important later on," he finally explained. "And someone wants to prevent that by neutralizing him."

"Are you saying there's a contract out on him?" Hunter frowned.

"Not necessarily. Better to discredit him than eliminate him," Kevin slowly spoke. "But there's always some over-eager little beaver who thinks he knows better. If Sandburg can't be discredited, somebody might try to eliminate him."

Hunter grunted. He slowly finished his salad then pushed the plate to one side. "I wonder what agency you work for, and if your name is even Kevin Coren."

"You could guess all afternoon about the agency and never get it right," Kevin softly answered. Then he grinned. "And there's nothing wrong with Kevin."

Hunter mentally acknowledged Kevin's side-step about his name. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the wooden table. "Sandburg's coming to Quantico to go through some sort of profiling training by the FBI."

"How did you know that?" Kevin's eyes narrowed.

"It's amazing what you learn when you keep your mouth shut and your ears open," Hunter bluffed. "There's no way I can keep tabs on him in Quantico."

Kevin nodded as he leaned forward. "All I need you to do is keep an eye on him when he's in DC. I'll let you know when that happens."

"And Quantico?"

Kevin suddenly grinned. "I'm working on it."

Hunter briefly nodded. "No promises, but I'll do my best." He stood and reached for his wallet.

"That's all I can ask," Kevin smiled. "Hey, let's have dinner when this is over. Your treat."

Hunter tossed a few bills on the table for a tip. "Then I pick the restaurant."

Kevin chuckled and watched as the other man walked away. He motioned for the waitress and gave her his credit card. "Both orders on my bill, please." When the waitress walked away, he reached into his jacket and pulled out his cell phone. He pressed a few buttons then put the phone to his ear.

"Did he agree?"

Kevin grinned. "Hello. Yes, my flight was fine. The weather's okay." He chuckled when he heard a muttered curse. "Tsk. Tsk. Such language."

"Sometimes you're more trouble than you're worth."

"Been told **that** more than once," Kevin acknowledged with laugh. "Yes, he'll do it. He's suspicious as hell, though."

"Well, that's expected, isn't it?"

"By the way, where's Herm?" Kevin smiled at the waitress as he signed the credit card slip.

Silence.

"Why?"

"Oh, he just left out a few things in his briefing, that's all." Kevin waited until the waitress left then irritably lowered his voice. "The one thing I have going with Hunter is that he has some measure of trust in me. That's going to go down the tubes if he thinks I'm incompetent! Now, where's Herm?!"

Silence.

"You know he's not all that stable."

Kevin closed his eyes. "Look, I don't care if he **is** your brother. Make sure he doesn't screw up like this again! Because if he does, I'll take care of him myself!" Angrily, he closed the cell phone and reached for a nearby glass. He took a deep drink then sputtered, realizing he'd drunk Hunter's ice tea. "How in the hell can he stand to drink **that** stuff?" he muttered.

"You know you don't have to stick around until the plane leaves." Blair Sandburg glanced up at his partner.

"I know." Jim Ellison barely nodded. His blue eyes were narrowed as he studied the people in line to go through boarding security.

Blair sighed as he also stared at the line. The new security procedures at the Cascade airport had created a jam not only at the checkout counter but also at the entry point to the departure gates. From the looks on some people's faces, they weren't going to be happy travelers.

He shouldered his backpack and put a hand on Jim's arm. "I'd better get in line. They're not going to hold the plane for me."

Jim grunted. "Call when you get there."

Blair impishly smiled, then sobered. "I'll call when I land and then when I get to Quantico. I promise."

Feeling absurdly like a parent sending his child off to his first summer camp, Jim gave his partner a hug.

"You promised not to work alone," Blair murmured.

"I know," Jim nodded. "More importantly, **Simon** knows." He tried not to smile. "Even **more** importantly, the rest of Major Crimes knows."

Blair chuckled and pulled back. "You better believe it." With a final pat on Jim's arm, he walked away.

Jim stood, silently watching as Blair inched forward. Once the younger man had cleared security, he turned around and waved.

Jim raised his right hand in return. He waited until Blair had disappeared in the crowd, heading for his departure gate before walking away.

Forty minutes later, Blair was staring out the window of the jumbo jet as it pulled away from the gate. Clicking his seatbelt, he squirmed to get more comfortable and sighed. It was going to be a long six weeks.

He continued staring out the window as the plan taxied down the runway and turned for take-off. As the plane gathered speed, rushing down the runway, they passed the airport parking garage. Blair's head turned as he caught a glimpse of a lone figure standing on the roof of the parking garage.

Smiling, Blair settled back in his seat.

Jim stood on the roof of the parking garage, watching as Blair's plane disappeared into the sky. Although he could have stretched his eyesight to keep the plane in view for much longer, he reluctantly turned away when the plane was no more than a distant dark dot in the morning sky. _'Blair'd be on the first flight back if he found out I zoned at the airport!'_

Shaking his head, the Sentinel of Cascade realized it was going to be a long six weeks.

"Blair Sandburg?"

Blair turned from the baggage carousel, awkwardly swinging his heavy suitcase with him. "Yeah?"

"Kurt Shrader. FBI."

Blair studied the man who had to be several years younger than he. He shook the man's hand. "Right. I remember the memo they sent with your picture."

The two men walked away from the baggage carousel and towards a nearby door. "The van's outside. There are two other people coming in on a flight in a half-hour. But I figured you'd be more comfortable waiting in the van than in a chair here in the airport. Unless you'd rather…"

"No, the van's fine," Blair smiled. "I can stretch out and call home." He chuckled to himself when the young man led him to a van parked in the restricted zone. _'Guess that FBI sticker in the windshield really_ _ **does**_ _give you some parking perks.'_ After putting his suitcase in the back of the van, Blair climbed inside. Shrader waved to him and walked back into the airport. Sighing, Blair took out his cell phone and dialed.

 _'You've reached the Ellison-Sandburg residence…that's the Sandburg-Ellison residence…leave a name and number…man, that's just not friendly…'_

"Hey, Jim. I'm at the airport and been met by a very courteous FBI agent. He looks just like his picture so I'm not being kidnapped…yet. I'll call you from Quantico. And you better not be eating at Wonder Burger, Ellison."

 _'You've reached the Ellison-Sandburg residence…that's the Sandburg-Ellison residence…leave a name and number…man, that's just not friendly…'_

Jim grinned at the sound of their friendly bickering on the answering machine.

"Hey, Jim…you there?"

Jim grabbed the telephone. "Where are you, Sandburg?"

"In my depressing dorm room at Quantico. They'll probably serve depressing dorm food," Blair complained.

Jim chuckled. "You're tough. You'll survive."

Blair stretched out on his bed. "Did you get my earlier message? About Wonder Burger?"

"I did. And for your information, I didn't eat at Wonder Burger."

Blair snorted. "No, you went through the drive-through and brought it home."

Jim glanced at the trash can under the kitchen counter. "Prove it."

Blair sighed. "Jim, you **know** I don't like to use my powers for such small matters."

"Ah-ha! You admitted it! Eating at Wonder Burger isn't a big deal." Jim settled onto the couch with a satisfied nod.

"I'll overlook it this time. I know you have court tomorrow."

"Thanks for reminding me," Jim growled.

"Oh, like you didn't know," Blair teased.

" **And** the Francis trial next week," Jim grunted.

"Is that a subtle hint for more Wonder Burger?"

"Bite me, Sandburg."

"Better me than that grease-pit with no nutritional value called Wonder Burger." Blair hesitated. "You promised to take care of yourself."

"And you promised not to worry so much."

Both men sat in silence for several seconds.

"Remember to keep your cell charged," Jim finally said.

"Remember to get enough sleep," Blair replied.

"Talk to you tomorrow."

"Night, Jim."

 **DAY ONE**

Blair curiously looked at the inhabitants in the room then back at the shiny plastic identification clipped to his shirt then back at the inhabitants. _'So this is what potential profilers look like. Blair, you are stepping into a whole new world.'_

Smiling at his thoughts, he automatically began dividing people into groups. First, there were the obvious Feds. All were men in their early 30's who wore long-sleeved white shirts, ties, and suit coats...and similar haircuts.

Then there were the obvious cops. Mostly older than the Feds and wearing similar expressions of _'Don't tell me how to catch a pervert. I'm here 'cause I gotta be.'_

"Sandburg?"

Startled out of his thoughts, Blair turned to see an older man, possibly in his mid-50's who reminded him of Dan Ackroyd's portrayal of Joe Friday in Dragnet. "Yeah. Blair Sandburg. How are you?" He held out his hand.

The older man nodded and briefly shook Blair's hand. "Carl Masterson. I'm in charge of this training session. You've been divided into groups of four. Each group has their own table. There are drinks and snacks along the back wall. As soon as everyone's here, we'll begin." As soon as he'd finished speaking, Masterson walked away.

"Uh-huh. Glad to be here, thanks for asking." Blair muttered under his breath as he made his way towards the long table against the back wall. Seconds later, he was shaking his head. "Donuts. Of course." Pointedly ignoring the stack of styrofoam cups, he grabbed a bottle of water and began looking for his table.

A few seconds after sitting down, a middle-aged man with greying brown hair and sad brown eyes sat across the table from him. Sipping steaming coffee from the large styrofoam cup, he sighed. "At least they've got decent coffee."

Blair chuckled. "Man, they know they can't afford to antagonize cops by not having coffee on hand."

"Amen, brother." He raised the cup in a silent salute. "Bernie McDonald. Homicide. Chicago PD."

"Blair Sandburg. Major Crimes. Cascade PD."

Bernie raised his eyebrows, accentuating the lines in his face. "Major Crimes. I'm impressed."

Blair chuckled. "Actually, I'm a consultant to the Cascade PD, but I mainly work with Major Crimes."

"Consultant? Great...just great."

Both men looked up as another middle-aged man yanked out a chair and sat down. He scowled at Blair and then gulped coffee from his cup.

"You've got something against consultants?" Bernie wryly guessed.

The man snorted. "They screwed up the last two cases I worked on. Meddling, know-it-all..."

"I heard those cases were screwed up by the investigators."

All three men looked up to see a beautiful woman with shoulder-length black hair and bright blue eyes sliding into the fourth chair.

"Prince, what the hell are you doing here?!"

"I could ask you the same thing, Tanner. I thought only the best were attending."

Blair's jaw dropped. _'She purrs. Ohmygod...she_ _ **PURRS**_ _!'_

Bernie chuckled under his breath. "I'm guessing the two of you know each other. So I'll provide the rest of the introductions. Bernie McDonald. Chicago PD Homicide. He's Blair Sandburg, Consultant to Major Crimes at the Cascade PD."

Dark blue eyes moved from one man to the other. "Maria Prince. From New York."

"You're not even a cop!"

Maria leaned back in her chair and crossed her left leg over her right knee. The action emphasized her tall athletic body. " **That** is Jake Tanner. Homicide. NYPD." She tilted her head to one side. "I guess that IA investigation worked out in your favor, hmmm?"

"You're not a cop either?" Blair eagerly asked. One part of his brain noticed that she wasn't as young as she first appeared. _'She looks mid-20's but she's probably about 35.'_

Maria smiled in his direction.

"She's a private investigator," Tanner growled. "Who doesn't belong here."

Slowly Maria's eyes moved back to stare at Tanner. "Anytime you think you can remove me, just come on over and try," she invited in a low throaty tone of voice.

 _'Holy shit! Man, I'd love to get her and Jim together!'_ He cleared his throat. "Maria, were you ever in Special Forces?" When the other three looked at him in various stages of surprise, he cleared his throat again. "You just remind me a lot of my partner and he..."

Bernie chuckled in sympathy as Blair's voice trailed off.

"That all depends on what you mean by Special Forces," Maria winked.

"Your attention, people." Masterson's voice, although not loud, cut through the babble. Once he had everyone's attention, he continued. "Welcome. As you can see, you've been divided into groups of four. Some of the groupings were deliberate. Others weren't. You all represent different disciplines of law enforcement."

He turned to indicate binders on the table next to him. "Each of you will be assigned a case. Consider your group a task force. You will be given data on victims, the crimes, forensic evidence, and suspects. Some crimes have been committed by more than one perpetrator. My associates and I will answer any questions we feel to be pertinent. Your group profile will be due by 5pm this evening. Those identifying the correct suspect or suspects will return tomorrow."

"What about those who don't get it right?" A young woman on the other side of the room asked.

"They go home," Masterson crisply answered.

"As someone who's worked on a few task forces, it's not easy to get everyone to agree. What if our group can't agree?" Bernie asked.

"Yeah, it's not unheard of to run separate investigations on the same crime." A grey-haired man in the back agreed.

"True," Masterson nodded. "If your group can't agree, then run a separate investigation. However, one of the purposes of this exercise is to see how well you can work within a group. As a profiler, you have to present your profile to people who may not be willing to accept what you have to say. It's up to you to convince them if you truly feel you're right."

Masterson waited until the muttering died down. "Food and drinks will be available in the next room. Everyone come up and get the binders with your names on them. Your profile will be turned in with the binders by 5pm."

"Can we consult with people outside our group?"

"Questions will be directed to me. I'll forward the question to the proper individual and get your answer back within 30 minutes. As for consulting with other groups, no. Not for the purposes of this exercise." He briefly smiled. "I realize some of you have worked together successfully in the past. For today, however, you don't have access to other groups." He held up a hand as people got to their feet. "One more thing. It's not unheard of for a task group to be infiltrated. Some of the people in this room are not who or what they seem. Each of your binders has biographical data on your teammates. Make use of it."

Blair closed his eyes. _'Oh, shit.'_

"Okay, we've established the victims have absolutely nothing in common," Bernie sighed. He bit into his Reuben sandwich and thoughtfully chewed.

"There's got to be something," Tanner argued as he slid a French fry through ketchup.

"Maybe not." Maria shook her head and pushed her half-eaten burger to one side. "These could be truly random acts."

"I don't think so." Blair closed his eyes and sipped his tea. "I think Tanner's right. There **is** a connection. And it's an important connection to the perpetrator. It doesn't have to make sense to **us**."

"You mean like all the victims had blue eyes or something?" Bernie's eyes narrowed. "Wouldn't that be obvious, though?"

"Depends on how obscure the connection is," Blair shrugged.

"Well, we better come up with something or we're all on the first flight out of here tomorrow morning," Maria pointed out.

"We don't need to come up with something, we need to come up with the **right** answer," Tanner snorted. "Unlike our Consultant here, I don't want to fake something and fail."

Blair's eyes barely opened although he turned his head in Tanner's direction.

"Cut it out, Tanner. All that was explained in the bio," Maria hissed. "And you're the last one to be throwing stones in anyone's direction."

"Besides, I don't see any failure. The bad guys in that little scenario backed down and paid for it," Bernie joked. "Handsomely, I might add."

"Failure," Blair muttered. "Tanner's right."

"What?" Maria's blue eyes widened.

Blair's eyes opened as he sat forward. He shoved his salad bowl to one side. "Failure. The opposite of success. The common denomenator of our victims."

"They were all successful in their fields." Tanner suddenly nodded.

"That depends on how you define success," Maria cautioned.

Each of the investigators opened their notebooks.

"Okay, Ethel Conrad. Real estate. She sold expensive real estate. Won awards the last few years for the most sales of homes selling for more than a quarter-million." Bernie grinned. "Can you imagine the property tax on those babies?"

"Gerald Knight owned and operated a catering service. He got several nice local reviews and had been interviewed a couple of times in some national magazines." Maria smiled. "He wasn't in Ethel's tax bracket, but he could be considered successful."

"James Henderson was a social worker who was successfully able to get mentally and physically disabled kids into mainstream after school programs." Blair shook his head. "Man, what a waste of a good person. He could have done so much."

"He did a lot, Sandburg," Bernie pointed out. "He might not have gotten a lot of publicity for what he did, but what he did mattered to a lot of people."

"Sharon Rhodes...married for 40 years with three kids and seven grandkids. No outside employment although she volunteered a lot of her spare time at her church, the First Avenue Baptist." Tanner slowly nodded.

"That busts your 'success' theory, Blair," Maria frowned.

Tanner snorted. "Depends on how you define success, remember? She was married for 40 years. I call **that** a success."

Bernie grinned. "After being in divorce court three times, I gotta agree with Tanner."

Maria slowly nodded. "Okay, we have a theory. We haven't been able to find any connection between the victims. No common employment, hobby, friends, or anything else."

"How would our perp have known about these people?" Tanner asked. "All the victims were in a major metropolitan area."

Blair suddenly leaned forward. "Newspaper. Television. Each was successful which meant they could have been locally interviewed by newspaper or TV reporters."

Bernie quickly flipped through his notebook. "Nothing here about that occurring."

"Then let's ask," Tanner grinned.

"More than likely we'll find out the perp either considered himself a loser or had a lot of problems that labeled him as a loser," Blair eagerly speculated. "That would explain why he went after successful people. It didn't matter how they were successful…just that they were."

Maria grinned and turned her head. "Masterson! We have some questions!"

Despite himself, Blair sighed. He wouldn't mind answering **that** voice. 

"Congratulations."

Blair and his teammates looked up at the sound of Masterson's voice. They'd been eating dinner quietly speculating if they would be around the next day.

"We got it!" Tanner grinned.

"You did," Masterson nodded. "The connection was each victim had been interviewed by the same television station."

"And from there it was simple enough to determine there was one individual present at each of the interviews...the sound man," Bernie continued.

"Who blamed his failures on his parents because they wouldn't financially support him all his life," Maria irritably snorted.

"He would have eventually worked up to killing his parents," Blair added. "Especially having killed four people before being caught."

"Good work." Masterson nodded in their direction. "Tomorrow you'll be given a tour of our facilities. You can use the gym or firing range or the library if you want. Get familiar with what we have to offer. We'll get back to class on Wednesday." He nodded once again then walked away.

"Cool. Library," Blair grinned.

"I can use some gym time," Maria admitted. "See you tomorrow. Maybe." She stood and took her tray to table along the back wall.

Tanner snorted as he saw both Blair and Bernie watching her walk away. "Down, boys. She'd chew both of you up and then spit you out without a second thought."

Bernie grinned. "I've lived a good long life. It might be worth it."

Blair simply nodded in agreement.

Tanner snorted a second time.

 **DAY FIVE**

 _'You've reached the Ellison-Sandburg residence...that's Sandburg-Ellison residence...leave a name and number...man, that's just not friendly...'_

"Hey, Jim! Pick up if you're there!"

Jim ran out of the bathroom, quickly wrapping a towel around his waist. "Chief? You there?"

"Yep, what are you doing home on a Friday night?"

Jim rolled his eyes. "What do you think I'm doing home?"

"Ummm...taking a shower and getting ready to become one with the couch and TV?"

Jim sighed. "I hate it when you do that." He smiled when Blair laughed. "So...how are things going?"

"Okay. My group is still passing our tests. Man, about half the class has been sent home already. Oh...did I mention that one of my teammates is fantastic!"

"No, you seem to have neglected to mention **that** in our previous talks," Jim snickered. "Blonde, brunette, or redhead?" He headed up the stairs to get dressed.

"Black hair, blue eyes, beautiful complexion, and capable of giving **you** a run for your money in hand-to-hand combat," Blair sighed. "I saw her working out in the gym. Man, talk about being flexible!" He stretched out on his bunk and grinned.

"Sandburg!" Jim choked with laughter.

"I'm serious!" Blair protested. "Jim, this woman actually purrs!" He lowered his voice. "She purrs, Jim...this throaty tone that says _'don't mess with me unless you have a serious death wish'._ Come to think of it, it's a feminine version of your growl."

"Down, Sandburg," Jim warned only half in jest. "They working you guys over the weekend?"

"No, we're actually on our own." Blair's voice returned to normal. "I'm heading up to DC to do some sightseeing."

"Sightseeing?"

Silence.

"Okay, I'm going to the Library of Congress to do a little personal research," Blair admitted.

Silence.

"Be careful. You're in the heart of Fed Land," Jim cautioned. 

"Gotcha. I'll watch it," Blair promised. "So, what do you have planned for the weekend? Working?"

"Just finishing up some paperwork tomorrow morning," Jim admitted. "Steven and I are getting together tomorrow afternoon for dinner before going to the Jags game. He's got courtside tickets."

"Cool," Blair grinned. "You gonna have dinner soon with your Dad?"

"Actually the old man's in Europe," Jim explained. "According to Steven, he got roped into serving on some sort of charity advisory committee that the Mayor formed. One of the charities is headquartered in Europe, and Dad's gone to give it a good once-over or something."

"How's work?" Blair asked.

Jim smiled and sat on the side of his bed. "Fine. I was in court two days and at my desk for two. I was in the field Wednesday with Conner. Nothing happened."

Silence.

"Good."

"Blair?"

"It's stupid. I don't want you to have any problems..."

"But..." Jim grinned.

Blair swore under his breath. "You're going to make me say it, aren't you?"

"Yep."

Blair sighed. "Okay, I don't want you to have any problems; but I like to feel like I'm needed! Happy?!"

"Ecstatic. Listen, Sandburg, you **are** needed. Got that? Partner. Guide. Shaman. Friend. And not necessarily in that order."

"You, too," Blair muttered. He cleared his throat. "Well, not the Guide and Shaman part, you understand?"

"Got it," Jim drawled. He glanced at the clock next to his bed. "Go to sleep. It's almost eleven, and you want to be wide awake for that exciting trip tomorrow to the Library."

"Yeah, I just know how to have a good time, don't I?" Blair snickered. 

**DAY SIX**

 _'And people think I don't know how to have a good time._ ' Vincent Hunter scratched his jaw. _'Sandburg gets turned loose for two days, and he heads straight for the Library of Congress! No shopping. No movies. No heading for the usual sightseeing tourist traps. Kevin, we are even for this!'  
_  
Except that Hunter knew he would still owe Kevin. After all, some things in life counted for more than others. And Hunter prided himself on paying his debts.

Just about the time that Hunter was seriously wondering if Sandburg had seen him and was simply waiting him out, the younger man closed notebook and stretched. Minutes later, Sandburg had returned the books and was briskly walking towards the door.

Hunter wasn't really surprised to follow Blair to a tourist attraction. He **was** surprised that the tourist attraction was The Wall. He watched as Blair slowly walked the length of the black monument occasionally stopping to stare at the list of names. He paused as Blair took out his cell phone and wished he was close enough to listen.

 _"You've reached the Ellison-Sandburg residence...that's Sandburg-Ellison residence...leave a name and number...man, that's just not friendly...'  
_  
"Hey, Jim, I know you're not home," Blair quietly spoke. "I just wanted to call. There's nothing wrong. I...I just paid a visit to The Wall and...I just wanted to say 'thanks', okay?" Blair took a deep breath and looked around. In a more controlled voice, he continued, "I'm heading back to Quantico. I'll call you tomorrow." 

_'How predictable. A researcher goes to the Library of Congress. The partner of an Army Ranger goes to The Wall. Next weekend, he'll head to The Smithsonian. I'd bet my next paycheck on it.'_

The silent watcher turned and walked away, confident he'd predicted Blair's movements. 

Hunter irritably looked from Blair to the man walking away. He'd glimpsed the man at the Library of Congress and again at The Wall. Muttering under his breath, he followed Blair.

Pulling out his cell phone, Hunter dialed a number. "Kevin? You'd better pick up this message soon. Sandburg had a tail today. He better not be one of yours, either. I would hate to think I was bored silly today for nothing. I didn't get a good look at him, but he's middle aged, short brown hair, probably 6'1" or 6'2". Unfortunately, I didn't get a good look at his face. I'll be in touch if anything else happens." 

**DAY TEN**

 _'Hurry up and wait. Jeez, the courts are as bad as the Army.'_

Despite his irritation, Jim briefly smiled when his silent complaint reminded him of Sgt. Billy Fields. Fields had been a 30-year veteran when Jim had joined the Rangers.

"It's just part of the Army's plan," Fields explained one day while they'd waited for their orders to move out. "They get us all geared up then sit us here to wait just so's they can see who'll crack." A stream of tobacco juice was spat to one side. "Just waitin' 'til somebody says _'Fuck, I'm tired of this. I need a drink.'_ Hell, I think I'm gonna retire."

Fields **had** gotten tired of it two years later and retired to his family's farm in Kentucky...only to die six months later when the beat up car he was racing at a local dirt track blew a tire and flipped four times.

"Detective Ellison, you're going to be called next."

Startled, Jim looked up at the baliff, then forced a smile. "Thanks."

He stood and straightened his tie, a little unnerved at how easily the young woman had approached him without warning. _'Get it together, soldier. If Sandburg gets a whiff of a hint that your senses aren't working right, he'll be back here faster than Naomi can burn sage.'  
_  
Not for a moment considering the improbability that his Guide could sense a problem with Jim's senses from the opposite side of the country, the Sentinel nodded at his silent scolding. As he waited by the courtroom door, he saw the elevator at the other end of the hallway open and Simon step out.

Simon smiled in greeting as he joined the detective. "Thought I'd get out of the office for a while," he explained. "After you testify, we can do lunch."

Jim's blue eyes twinkled. "You drew babysitting duty today, sir?"

Simon grunted. "Since Sandburg's not around to ruin it, I thought we'd go to Charley's Rib House." He grinned at Jim's gleeful expression. "You know...the one where there's not a fat-free sugar-free low-carb item on the whole damn menu?"

Both men reverently sighed. Then Jim mournfully shook his head. "He'll know."

"How?" Simon asked, only half in jest.

Jim shrugged. "Trust me. Sandburg will know." Then he grinned. "But since he's not here, Charley's Rib House it is."

The courtroom door opened, and the baliff stepped out. "James Ellison?"

Jim stepped forward into the courtroom, followed by Simon who took a seat in the back row.

When Paul Francis had discovered his wife having an affair with his business partner, he'd planted evidence that his partner was using their dry cleaning business as a cover for a gambling operation and then murdered his partner. His next step was to murder his cheating wife and throw the blame for both murders onto unknown gangsters. He'd even begged for police protection.

Rafe and Henri had been assigned to the murders while Joel and Megan organized the protection detail. From the beginning, both Rafe and Henri had suspected Francis of the murders. When they'd found no evidence of a hidden gambling operation, a sting had been organized.

Francis had been told the evidence didn't point to gangsters being guilty of either murder and the police protection had been removed. Jim had organized the surveillance and uncovered evidence of Francis trying to find someone willing to fake a murder attempt on him in order to convince the police he was the target of the gangsters who'd murdered his wife and partner.

ADA Beverly Sanchez checked her notes as Jim was sworn in. Then she looked at him and smiled. "Detective Ellison, we've heard testimony as to why the defendant was under surveillance by the Cascade Police Department. Could you please tell the Court your observations on January 18th of last year?"

Simon settled back, absently listening to Jim's short but complete answers. Jim had been surprisingly cooperative when it became apparent Sandburg had set up a Sentinel Watch system around his partner.

Simon had routinely partnered Ellison with various other members of Major Crimes when the Sentinel had been on the street. However, it was what had become privately known as the Food Patrol that had the detectives snickering under their breaths.

Wonder Burger hadn't been mentioned once. And if Jim had driven through their drive-through on his own, he'd been smart enough to keep his mouth shut and destroy the evidence.

Even Henri had bravely stepped forward and steered Jim to Salad Heaven for lunch one day...and covered his own salad with a fat-free dressing without grimacing once.

And all it had taken was a few disapproving looks from Rhonda for Jim to move his hand from the donuts to whole-grain muffins when the snack cart rolled around each morning and afternoon.

Through it all, Jim had remained silent or briefly smiled. While the others were waiting for the pressure to build and taking morbid bets on who would be the unfortunate soul to catch the fallout when Ellison finally exploded, Simon knew Jim was cooperating in order to keep Sandburg satisfied.

Because he knew Jim was right. One word to Sandburg that Jim's health or mental well-being was suffering, and the younger man would be on the first plane back to Cascade.

 _'And Sandburg can't afford to give up another opportunity,'_ Simon silently mused. But enough was enough. Not even Sandburg expected Jim to eat healthy meals the entire time he was away. So Simon had decided Jim deserved a reward.

Besides, Ellison was always a holy terror after court appearances. Allowing him to have lunch at Charley's Rib House would go a long way towards maintaining peace in the bullpen in the afternoon.

"Thank you, Detective Ellison. No further questions, Your Honor."

Simon blinked and glanced at his watch. _'Beverly didn't waste any time. She must want an early lunch break, too.'  
_  
Judge Eileen Stumbaugh nodded. She peered through her glasses at the defense table. "Mr. Rickman?"

"Thank you, Your Honor." The defense attorney, Anthony Rickman, rose to his feet. "Detective Ellison, the testimony has been that Mr. Francis was under surveillance. Can you elaborate on the type of surveillance?"

"The defendant under electronic surveillance including taps on his home and office phones. His cell phone carrier was providing us with daily information on the calls he was making and receiving. We then traced those numbers. He was also under physical surveillance."

"By physical surveillance, you mean he was being observed and followed?"

"Correct."

Rickman frowned as he glanced at the jury. "Followed I understand, but can you elaborate on this 'observation'?"

"There is an apartment building immediately opposite the defendant's residence with several unoccupied apartments. The Department contacted the owner of the building and arranged for a surveillance team to occupy an apartment which provided the best view of the defendant's residence," Jim calmly replied. "Surveillance equipment was used to allow us to hear the defendant's conversations with any visitors...such as Bennie Paxton."

Simon nodded approvingly as Jim's testimony tied in the man Francis had contacted to perform the supposed "hit" with a visit of the hitman to the Francis' home.

"Was this the only spying team in place around Mr. Francis' home?" Rickman demanded.

"There was a second **surveillance** team detailed to physically follow the defendant," Jim calmly answered. "Two teams worked each eight-hour shift."

"So, all in all, there were six teams spying...I mean providing surveillance on Mr. Francis. Is that correct?"

Jim nodded. "Six teams were needed in order to provide 24 hour surveillance."

"I see." Rickman rubbed his chin. "Detective Ellison, are you a Sentinel?"

"Objection!" Beverly immediately stood. "Approach, Your Honor!"

"Granted." Judge Stumbaugh leaned forward to speak with both attorneys.

Jim glanced at Simon who was scowling at Rickman.

"Your Honor, this is completely irrelevant!" Beverly hissed.

"Hardly, Your Honor," Rickman quietly argued. "If Detective Ellison is a Sentinel as was reported, then my client's civil rights were violated."

Beverly rolled her eyes. "First of all, that Sentinel nonsense has been publicly explained and put to rest. It has no place here."

"That would depend on which press conference you believe," Rickman interrupted. "What if the second press conference by Blair Sandburg was the lie and Detective Ellison **is** one of these Sentinels?"

"Are we going to bring in every conspiracy theory and urban legend to muddy the waters?" Beverly demanded. "The surveillance of the defendant is covered by warrants legally issued and which Your Honor has ruled as proper. Detectives Rafe and Brown have testified as to the results of these surveillance efforts, i.e., the alleged murder attempt of the defendant. That so-called hitman has also testified against the defendant. Detective Ellison is merely here to testify he saw the alleged hitman meeting with the alleged victim."

"And it's how that information was obtained that I wish to explore," Rickman pointed out.

Beverly resisted the urge to throw up her hands. "Your Honor, Mr. Rickman argued and failed about the legality of the surveillance warrants and the evidence that resulted from them. He's trying to do an end run around your ruling and submit nonsense in place of facts."

Judge Stumbaugh glared at Rickman. "If this is your defense, I seriously suggest you reconsider. This is a court of law. Argue law and leave this Sentinel nonsense out of my courtroom."

"But, Your Honor..."

"Mr. Rickman. I don't like repeating myself. Unless you can prove that one, Sentinels exist, and two, Detective Ellison is one of them, you have no facts to bring before me in this matter. Do not waste this Court's time again."

"Your Honor, the jury has heard the question. I'd like permission to mention this to the jury in my closing statement," Beverly requested.

"Permission denied. I said there will be no mention of this Sentinel crap in my courtroom. Now step back. Both of you." Judge Stumbaugh sat back. "Objection sustained."

"Well, it was going to be brought up sooner or later," Beverly sighed.

Simon and Jim stood with her at the prosecution table as the court broke for lunch. "How badly did he damage the case by asking that question?" Simon asked.

Beverly sighed. "Judge Stumbaugh wasn't happy...so that could work in our favor. She'll be likely to keep him on a short leash. And though I can't refer to his question specifically during my closing argument, I can point out the holes in the defense theory and their attempt to confuse fact with fiction. I think the jury will have no problem making **that** connection." She glanced up at Jim and noticed the clenching jaw. Patting him on the arm, Beverly continued. "Don't worry. You and your people nailed Francis. He's going to jail."

"Do you need me here this afternoon?" Jim crisply asked.

"I probably won't; but if I do, I need you quickly. Judge Stumbaugh isn't happy with any delays," Beverly warned.

Jim curtly nodded. "Court resumes at one?"

"Two," Beverly answered. "Judge Stumbaugh has a scheduling conflict at one." She glanced at a nearby young man. "Her clerk goofed." Then she shrugged. "Like I said, the Judge doesn't like it when things don't run smoothly."

 _'Welcome to_ _ **my**_ _world.'_ Simon nudged Jim. "C'mon, that gives us plenty of time to get to Charley's and back before two."

Simon happily sighed as he stared at the plate of bar-b-q'd ribs. "I don't even want to think about how many hours I'll need in the gym to work this meal off."

Jim briefly smiled as he spread butter on his baked potato. "Somehow I think that'll be the least of my worries."

Simon grunted. "The kid won't know so enjoy your meal."

 _'Sandburg might not, but I'll be the Shaman will.'_ Resigned to listening to another lecture on healthy eating habits, Jim decided that a condemned man was more than entitled to enjoy a last meal.

"Sanchez was right, you know," Simon quietly spoke after a few minutes. "Somewhere...somehow...the Sentinel question was going to be asked."

Jim nodded. "All things considered, we were lucky that Beverly was the ADA who got to handle it. It could have been worse."

Simon grunted. "Yeah, and Sandburg could've been the one on the stand."

Jim stared at his friend. "You don't think he could have handled the question?"

"Oh, **he** could've handled it," Simon explained. "But **you** would have gone ballistic while he did it."

Jim managed not to squirm. "Maybe."

Simon snorted. "No 'maybe' about it, Jim. Oh, by the way, I got a package from Henry Pillars this morning." Simon grinned. "By private courier, of course."

"Pillars? The publisher of the Enquirer?" Jim frowned. "What the hell did **he** send?"

"The note said it was pictures McBride had taken when he was researching Sandburg," Simon explained. "They were taken at Sandburg's graduation. Pillars thought we'd like to have them. He even included the negatives."

"Burn then," Jim snapped. "That was a good day for Sandburg…a good day for all of us. I don't want anything to change that." He paused. "Besides, those pictures can't be as good as the ones we took."

Simon took a drink of coffee and decided to change the subject. "Speaking of Sandburg, how's he getting along? According to CNN this morning, DC is still in one piece."

Jim chuckled. "He's gonna call again tonight. The last time we spoke, he said they've been working them pretty hard. He says it's fascinating and that his group is at the top of the class even though two of the team members don't get along very well," Jim explained. "He doesn't talk about Tanner all that much, respects Bernie's work ethic and sense of humor, and is drooling after Maria."

Simon chuckled.

"Apparently Maria is flexible as hell, impressive as an Amazon, and purrs," Jim explained.

"Purrs?" Simon asked in surprise.

"That's what he says," Jim smirked.

Simon sighed. "You know, the sooner we get him back here where we can keep an eye on him, the happier I'll be."

"Amen, sir. Amen."

 _'You've reached the Ellison-Sandburg residence...that's the Sandburg-Ellison residence...leave a name and number...man, that's just not friendly...'_

"Jim? You home?"

Using his right hand on the remote to turn the movie off, Jim reached for the phone with his left. "Hey, Chief. How are ya?"

"Okay."

Jim automatically got to his feet. "What's wrong?"

Blair chuckled. "C'mon, Jim. Ease up. Nothing's wrong...I guess."

"Sandburg..."

Blair sighed. "Just...it's kinda weird, you know?"

"No, I don't know," Jim patiently answered. "That's why I asked." He walked over to the balcony doors and stared out into the darkness.

Blair sat cross-legged on his bed and frowned. "I'm working with my team, and we're doing great, you know? Our profiles are on the mark, and we're working a little better together. The case we're looking at now is a mess, though. Masterson has us working ahead of the other teams. And Bernie and I figure that Maria's gonna strangle Tanner before all this is over."

"Well, except for the anticipated mayhem, it sounds like everything's going great," Jim pointed out.

"Yeah, but...Masterson's sorta using me as a teacher's aide," Blair continued. "When I'm not working with my team, he's got me helping others."

"Well, you **are** a consultant and Grade-A Number One teacher," Jim grinned.

Blair took a deep breath. "Why me?"

"Why not you?" Jim patiently asked.

Silence.

"Okay, that's a good question guaranteed to boost my ego," Blair admitted.

"Sandburg, listen to me. You're good at this profiling stuff. You always have been. So why should you be surprised that other people see that and want to take advantage of it?" Jim asked.

"I guess I just hoped I'd fly under the radar a while longer. You know...until other stuff was sorta died and was buried in favor of other muck-raking scandals," Blair muttered.

 _'Okay, that may be the opening I was looking for. Now I just gotta put a positive spin on things.'_ Jim cleared his throat. "Well, we may have taken a little step in that direction."

"Oh?"

Jim grinned at the suspicion in his partner's voice. "I took the stand today in the Francis trial. His attorney asked if I was a Sentinel." He quickly moved the phone away from his ear.

"WHAT!?"

"You want to repeat that a little louder? I don't think they heard you in Japan," Jim complained.

"Dammit, Jim!"

"Look, we knew the question was going to be asked, right? Beverly immediately objected then she, Francis' attorney, and the judge had a little conference. The judge ruled it was all nonsense, and Beverly said the judge was very specific that she didn't want to hear any more about it." Jim took a deep breath. "So, with that as a precedent, Simon and I figure any other ADA will get the same ruling."

"We hope," Blair pessimistically added.

"Sometimes hope is all we can do," Jim softly reminded him.

Silence.

"I wanna come home."

"Blair, you..." Jim began.

"I know," Blair interrupted. "I need to do this. For me. For you. For Simon. Hell, for everybody. If I don't, I might as well fold my tent and slink away with my tail tucked between my legs."

Jim shook his head to erase the sudden mental image. "So, other than feeling you're being put on display, is there anything else making you uneasy?"

"I guess not," Blair admitted. "Maybe it's just Masterson. He's always eyeballing me."

"Maybe the Feds are planning on offering you a proposal," Jim suggested.

Blair snorted. "Jim, there isn't enough sage in the world that Naomi could burn for me to become an FBI agent. Besides, I'm coming home when this is over. You **do** remember that, right?"

"Yeah, I remember," Jim quietly assured him. He sat down on the couch and leaned his head against the cushion. "So, what's on tap for tomorrow? You guys being cut loose again?"

"Yeah," Blair confirmed. "I'm heading for the Smithsonian. I can easily kill a day there. Maybe I'll go back Sunday, too."

"Hey, have some fun, okay?" Jim urged.

"I'll try." Blair waited for a moment, then asked, "So…Jim…how was your lunch today?"

"Jeez, Sandburg..." 

**DAY ELEVEN**

"Blair! Heading out?"

Blair turned to see Maria walking towards him. Despite his best intentions, he appreciatively eyed the woman in her spandex work-out clothes. Then he caught himself when he saw the twinkle in her eyes.

"Yeah. Gonna take in the Smithsonian." He paused, then continued. "Would you like to come with me? I mean, join me?" Blair closed his eyes. _'Smooth one, Sandburg. Why don't you just put on a dress shirt and tie and be a complete dork!'_

"That's a generous offer, Blair," Maria replied in a low throaty voice. "I'm tempted, but I've already made other plans."

Blair felt his mouth go dry. "Right." He cleared his throat and shook his head. "You **do** know what you do to the male of the species, don't you?"

Maria raised her eyebrows. "What do you think?"

"I think I'd better change the subject," Blair grinned.

"Speaking of changing the subject, any ideas on our profile?" Maria asked.

Blair shook his head. "All five victims were killed over the space of seven years in various parts of the country. Except for those two anomolies, they had a lot in common. All were cops in high-risk departments."

Maria nodded. "Vice. Gangs. Undercover. All things considered, it's not unusual they would all be killed in the line of duty."

"If they were killed in the line of duty," Blair pointed out.

"You're still thinking one person is responsible for all the deaths. The others don't," Maria pointed out.

Blair nodded. "I don't know why, but yeah, I do."

Maria smiled. "Well, perhaps it'll... **come** to you when you're more relaxed."

Blair groaned and started walking down the hallway. "Any idea where Bernie and Tanner are?"

Maria chuckled low in her throat. "The last I saw, Bernie was heading to the recreational center. He said something about polishing his skills at the pool table. As for Tanner..." She frowned. "I don't know and don't care."

"You two **really** don't like each other, do you?" Blair asked.

"He's a menace," Maria almost snarled. "But he's got highly placed connections in the NYPD mostly because he knows where many of the embarrassing bodies are buried...and who buried them."

They paused at the elevator. "Sure you won't join me?" Blair grinned.

"Thanks. Maybe another time." Maria frowned as she looked at her wrist.

Blair held the elevator door open, but Maria shook her head. "I forgot my watch. If I don't time myself, I overdo. I'll get it from my room and take the stairs."

"Have fun," Blair chuckled.

"You, too." Maria turned from the elevator with a frown.

Hunter opened one eye, then reach for the ringing phone on the nightstand. "Hunter."

"He's on the move. Looks like you get to spend the day at the Smithsonian."

Hunter growled and slammed the phone down onto its base. _'It's too early for this crap.'_

 _'The Smithsonian. I knew it.'_ The watcher casually followed Blair from a distance.

Blair took several moments to read the pamphlet then wandered down one hallway.

Hunter stood with a tour group, but watched Blair from the corner of his eyes. He also saw a familiar man in the crowd casually mingle with a tour group that were following Blair down the hallway. Sighing, he fell in with his tour group and followed. _'It's like a freaking convoy! It's a wonder we don't all fall over ourselves! I may not be able to see his face, but I know that build. Hell, he's even wearing the same clothes!'  
_  
Blair hesitated, then walked into one room. He glanced at the pamphlet and softly read, "Architecture of the Babylonians, Assyrians, and Sumerians. Lectures in Media Room 7 at 11, 1:30, and 4. Lecture attendance may be counted as 2 points for Continuing Education Credit. Sponsored by the AIA."

He hesitated. "Continuing Education?" Shaking his head, he began walking about the large room, studying the exhibits, mostly unaware of the ebb and flow of the crowd around him. _'Continuing education. Now why is_ _ **that**_ _sticking in my head? That damn  
profile we're composing...that's why. But how does that connect with the victims?'  
_  
Blair was halfway around the room when it came to him _. 'Yeah. All the victims had attended FBI training courses at Quantico! Right...along with how many other cops who are still alive? Wonder if they all took the same training courses? Gotta ask Masterson that on Monday.'  
_  
Blair paused by one exhibit, listening to the tour guide. "As you can see, the pyramids of the Sumerians differed from the ones in Egypt." The young woman smiled. "Some people prefer the Egyptian style and say they improved upon the Sumerian version. I'm sure the Sumerians wouldn't have agreed and probably would have been upset by the inference that they were being regarded as second-rate." She laughed in a practiced way that made it a part of her spiel.

Frowning, Blair walked back to the hallway. _'Second rate, huh? Guess that's what I'll feel like if we don't get this profile right. We've been ahead of the curve in every assignment so far. Okay, so it's ego. I admit it. I don't like it when I...fail...come in second place...get replaced...'  
_  
Deep in though, Blair didn't realize he'd turned left into a smaller hallway and away from the crowd of people.

 _'Where the hell is he going?'_ Hunter grimaced in exasperation as he spotted Blair turning away from the crowd _. 'And there goes his buddy, practically on his heels. Can't Sandburg feel him following? And he's been working with cops for how long?'_

Blair chewed his lower lip as he walked _. 'If all the victims took the same classes_ _ **and**_ _they excelled, then maybe somebody didn't want to be supplanted if...'_

Suddenly, Blair stopped in surprise. "What the..." He turned around in a circle. "Where the hell am I?" Groaning, he closed his eyes. "I am not lost in the Smithsonian. I am not lost in the Smithsonian." He opened his eyes, not surprised to find himself in the same spot he'd been when he closed them. "I'll never hear the end of this if Jim and the guys find out."

"That's the least of your worries."

Blair spun around. "Masterson?"

Masterson quickly walked towards Blair. "You're really predictable, you know. Somehow I thought you would've been more of a challenge."

"A challenge?" Blair slowly took two steps backward. He saw the overhead light reflecting off the blade of the knife in Masterson's hand as the FBI agent raised the sharp object over his head.

"What are..." Blair dived to his right, rolling to his feet as he successfully dodged Masterson's attack.

"Freeze! DC Police!"

Both Masterson and Blair immediately froze at hearing Hunter's sharp command.

Then Masterson growled and lunged again at Blair, the knife aimed for the younger man's chest.

Hunter fired one shot, sending the bullet into Masterson's head.

Blair stumbled back, watching as Masterson fell to the floor. Biting his lip, he watched as Hunter approached and knelt beside the agent.

"He's dead," Hunter grunted.

"Drop the gun!"

Hunter obeyed, then held his arms out from his body. "I'm Captain Hunter of the DC Police. My ID is in my pocket."

"Then you know the drill," a security officer crisply ordered. "Get up. Take three steps away from the body and kneel...hands on your head." 

"Good afternoon, Mr. Sandburg. I'm Detective Templeton Page, and I'd like to get your statement."

Blair looked up from his half-empty coffee cup to see a man who, for some reason, reminded him of a younger Henri Brown. "Okay," he nodded.

"Would you like more coffee?"

"No, thanks. Any more, and I could probably float back to Cascade," Blair admitted.

Page sat in a chair on the other side of the desk and placed a tape recorder on the table. "Usually we video record victim statements and interviews; but at the request of the FBI, we're only doing an audio record."

"Are they going to bury this...bury Captain Hunter?" Blair asked in concern.

"Captain Hunter isn't the sort to allow anything to remain buried."

Blair caught the hint of bitterness in the detective's reply. He sat quietly while Page activated the tape recorder and identified himself and Blair and added the date and time. "Okay, Mr. Sandburg. In your own words, what happened today?"

"Well, first of all I'm attending FBI profiler training at Quantico. We have this weekend off," Blair explained. "So I went sightseeing at the Smithsonian. I got deep in thought thinking about our class assignment and..." He cleared his throat. "I must have inadvertently taken a wrong turn because I wound up in this hallway behind the exhibit rooms. When I realized I had strayed off the beaten path so to speak, I tried to figure out how I got there, you know?"

Page silently nodded.

"Umm...that's when Masterson walked up to me. He said he thought I would be more of a challenge." Blair took a deep breath. "That's when he pulled the knife and tried to stab me. I dodged him, and that's when Captain Hunter yelled for him to 'freeze' and identified himself. We both looked at Hunter, then Masterson lunged for me again." He stared into Page's dark eyes. "That's when Captain Hunter shot him."

"You're positive that Captain Hunter properly identified himself as a police officer?" Page quietly asked.

"Yes," Blair firmly answered. "Does the FBI have any idea why Masterson tried to kill me?"

"Not that I've been told," Page admitted. "However, Chief Mannion will be speaking with them. And Captain Hunter will be questioned." His last sentence was made with no small amount of pleasure.

"Masterson didn't give Hunter any choice," Blair pointed out.

Page nodded. "And that will be noted for the record." He tapped a finger on the table and frowned. "Did anyone know you were going to the Smithsonian today?"

"My partner back in Cascade. I talked with him last night," Blair replied. "And one of my teammates in Quantico. Maria Prince. I told her this morning. We saw each other when I was leaving. She was headed for the gym. I invited her to go with me, but..." He ruefully smiled.

Page briefly grinned in response. "I'm sure someone will question her as well."

Blair silently pitied whoever drew **that** assignment.

"Did you meet Captain Hunter when he was in Cascade?"

"Yes," Blair nodded.

"Did you contact him when you arrived here? Did you arrange to meet today?" Page's questions came quickly.

"No to both. We're not personal friends," Blair answered. "I was as surprised to see him as I was to see Masterson."

"Do you have anything else to add?" Page asked.

Blair shook his head, then spoke. "No...except I'd really like to know why Masterson came after me."

"Well, unfortunately, Captain Hunter made sure we couldn't ask him that question...or any other questions for that matter." Page turned off the tape recorder. "I'll have your statement transcribed for your signature. In the meantime, I'll see you get some more coffee." At the door, he turned and grinned over his shoulder. "By the way, you made CNN."

Blair's eyes widened. "Oh, no. You're kidding, right?" When Page shook his head, he reached into his pocket and brought out his cell phone. "Oh, man, I gotta call my partner. Maybe he hasn't heard yet."

"Man, Hairboy would have an absolute fit if he saw all this junk food," Henri Brown laughed.

Megan Conner looked at the chips, pretzels, salsa, and pizza boxes stacked on Jim's kitchen countertops. "Probably," she wryly agreed.

"Hey, c'mon, Ellison! Get the game on!"

"Don't worry, Rafe. The game doesn't start for another ten minutes," Jim assured him. "I just want to check out CNN."

The detectives from Major Crimes had descended upon Jim's loft to watch an afternoon of collegiate basketball. Megan, who only followed the Jags on a semi-regular basis, had joined them, teasing that she would be taking notes in order to tell Sandy about the wild party thrown in his absence.

Joel Taggart suddenly laughed. "Is it my imagination or have we all become CNN junkies since Blair went to DC?"

Brian Rafe shrugged. "Hey, if something **does** happen, at least CNN will have it first."

"All right, people, food and drinks are out. Get your plates loaded now so we can settle in," Simon ordered.

Jim grabbed a bottle of beer and twisted off the cap. "Just for your information, Joel, I've **always** been a CNN junkie...except when I'm watching ESPN." His blue eyes twinkled in mirth.

Conner snorted. "Don't even try to convince us of **that**. We all know Sandy keeps the television tuned to the Discovery Channel."

Jim silently raised his beer bottle in Conner's direction in rueful acknowledgement.

 _'We have new developments in our earlier story about an armed incident at the Smithsonian in Washington, DC.'  
_  
Jim blanched as the other detectives looked at him.

"No...no...no...Jim, I don't want to hear that Sandburg was going to the Smithsonian today!" Simon growled.

Jim didn't answer, but walked into the living room to stare at the television. The other detectives silently followed.

 _'We go now to our correspondent in Washington, Penny Goodman. Penny, what do you have for us?'_

Joel put a hand on Jim's arm. "We would have heard if he'd been hurt," he murmured.

 _'Frank, as we reported earlier, an FBI agent attacked a visitor from Washington State inside the Smithsonian. We don't have all the details, but we can tell you at this moment, the FBI agent as been identified as Carl Masterson. Agent Masterson is an instructor at the FBI Academy in Quantico, Virginia. His area of instruction is in criminal and psychological profiling. The intended victim has been identified as Blair Sandburg of Cascade, Washington.'_

"Damn."

"Oh, Sandy."

"Son-of-a..."

"Quiet!" Jim yelled.

 _'...intriguing twist to this story is that Mr. Sandburg, who is a Consultant to the Cascade Police Department, was attending the FBI Academy and was in Agent Masterson's class. However, there's been no word about a possible motive. We have also been informed that the attack was thwarted by Captain Vincent Hunter of the DC Police Dept. We've been advised that a statement from both the FBI and Chief Mannion of the DC Police Dept. will be made within a few hours. Back to you, Frank.'_

"Damn."

"Jeez."

"Son-of-a..."

"Simon, do you still have Mannion's phone number? From when Hunter was here?" Jim quickly asked.

Simon grimly nodded. "At the office. I'll go make that call."

"We'll all go," Joel decided.

Jim had the door open for his friends when the phone rang. They all stopped, then slowly turned their heads to stare at the phone.

 _'You've reached the Ellison-Sandburg residence...that's the Sandburg-Ellison residence...leave a name and number...man, that's just not friendly...'_

"Umm...Jim?"

Jim dived towards the phone. Grabbing it, he pressed the 'talk' button and shouted, "Sandburg! Are you alright? Where are you? What happened?"

Silence.

"Yes. DC Main Headquarters. I haven't a clue."

"He's fine," Jim told the others.

There was a collective sigh of relief. Joel closed the front door, and they drifted back to the living room.

"Who are you talking to?" Blair asked.

"The guys from work. They came over to watch basketball," Jim answered.

"And I bet there's not a healthy snack in the whole loft," Blair teased.

"We can discuss eating habits later," Jim snarled. "What the hell's going on?"

Blair sighed. "Jim, I honestly don't know. I'm at the Smithsonian, and suddenly Masterson shows up and pulls a knife. Then Hunter shows up and shoots Masterson. I've given my statement. The detective who took it said Hunter's going to be questioned by the FBI who are probably gonna have a few things to ask me, but I don't know one damn thing!"

"Easy, Chief," Jim soothed. "Just answer the questions as best you can. It's all you can do." He paused. "Masterson just attacked you in the middle of the Smithsonian?"

"Well, we weren't in one of the main exhibit rooms," Blair replied.

Jim frowned. "Just where were you when this all happened?"

"Jim, I don't know that I should be revealing any kind of details."

"Sandburg!"

"One of the back hallways, okay! I took a wrong turn!" Blair shouted. "It's not my fault!"

"Okay...okay...sorry. Calm down, okay?" Jim soothed.

"Don't tell me he got lost in the Smithsonian?!" Simon hissed. He scowled when Jim nodded.

"I'm afraid they're going to try and blame this on Hunter," Blair mumbled.

"Why do you think that?"

"Page, the detective who took my statement, almost drooled at the idea of the FBI grilling Hunter," Blair explained. "He gave me the impression he'd had a few run-ins with Hunter and was looking for a way to make it as bad for him as he can. Man, I am **really** gonna scrutinize my statement before I sign it."

"Hunter's IA, Chief. Nobody's gonna like him," Jim pointed out. "So they're going to take their best shot at him. That's just the way it is."

"He saved my life, Jim," Blair quickly reminded his partner. "I'm not going to let anybody hang him over this."

Jim sighed. "Okay, you're there. I'm not. You do what you think is best, and I'll back you. It's your call."

Henri's dark eyes widened in shock. He looked at Rafe, who looked at Megan, who looked at Joel. Then they all looked at Simon.

Simon ignored them. Instead, he patted Jim on the arm. "Tell Sandburg, I'm calling Mannion and to keep his cell phone on. We'll get back to him."

"Sandburg..."

"I heard. Tell Simon thanks."

"We're heading to Simon's office," Jim advised. "You hang in there, okay?" 

"Okay. I'm okay. Okay?"

"You know, I actually understood that," Jim teased. "I'll talk to you soon." He disconnected the call and put the phone back on its stand.

"Let's get to my office so I can call Mannion before anything else happens," Simon muttered.

They were halfway out the door when the phone rang. All of the detectives stopped, then looked at the phone.

 _'You've reached the Ellison-Sandburg residence...that's the Sandburg-Ellison residence...leave a name and number...man, that's just not friendly...'_

"Jim? You there? Did you hear about Blair?"

Jim sighed. He quickly walked to the phone and pressed the 'talk' button. "Yeah, Steven, I heard. I've talked with him. He's okay, but I don't know much. I'm heading to work to contact Chief Mannion of the DCPD."

"Give me a call later, okay?" Steven sighed. "Does he have a sign or something around his neck that the rest of us can't see?"

"Who knows? I'll call you later."

"This is one unholy mess. Did you have to kill him?"

Hunter calmly stared up at the complaining FBI agent. "Agent Masterson was attempting to stab an unarmed civilian. My actions were completely justified."

"It's an unfortunate situation," Chief Mannion added. "However, it's also pretty cut and dried." He paused. "Except for Masterson's motive."

FBI Agent Craig Underwood grunted. "We've got people going through his home and office. Maybe we'll get lucky. In the meantime..."

As Underwood activated the tape recorder and spoke to identify the participants as well as the date and time, Hunter remained calm. He'd been involved in many interrogations and found it interesting in an abstract way to be on the receiving end _. 'Now I know why so many people squirm. These hard chairs are damned uncomfortable.'  
_  
"Tell us what happened, Captain Hunter."

Hunter stared into Underwood's pale blue eyes. "I was at the Smithsonian."

"Why?"

Hunter kept from smiling at the FBI agent's technique. "There was an exhibit I'd been meaning to see along with a lecture."

"On?"

Mannion watched in silent appreciation. Both Hunter and Underwood knew how the interrogation game was played. _'And both of them seem to be able to play it very well.'_

"Architecture of the Babylonians, Assyrians, and Sumerians." Hunter sighed. "Unfortunately, I didn't get a chance to make the lecture. Hopefully, I'll get a chance next weekend."

"You have an interest in ancient architecture?" Underwood allowed a small tone of incredulity to slip into his voice.

"I have an interest in many subjects," Hunter smoothly answered. "Did you know that the origin of many of the things credited to the Egyptians actually originated in Sumeria? Such as pyramids. The Sumerian civilization preceded the Egyptian culture by more than a thousand years." He smiled and mentally crossed his fingers. _'And that's the extent of what I remember from the tour guide.'  
_  
"I see." Underwood leaned forward. "Did you know that Mr. Sandburg was in DC?"

"I met Mr. Sandburg while I was recently in Cascade to bring a prisoner back to the District," Hunter explained. "During my visit, his superior officer, Captain Simon Banks mentioned that Mr. Sandburg would possibly be attending the FBI Academy for profiler training. However, he didn't mention when that would occur."

"And when you saw Mr. Sandburg?"

"I was surprised at first. Then I remembered that Mr. Sandburg had obtained his PhD in Anthropology." Hunter shrugged. "While in Cascade, I had problems with Sandburg's partner, Ellison. I wanted to find out if Sandburg was in DC by himself or if I needed to start looking over my shoulder. That's when I saw a man I didn't recognize following Sandburg."

"Why did Mr. Sandburg leave the main area and wind up in that back corridor?"

"You'll have to ask him," Hunter replied. "All I know is when I turned the corner, Agent Masterson had a knife pulled on Mr. Sandburg. I identified myself and ordered Masterson to freeze. He then lunged for Mr. Sandburg, and I shot him."

"In the head," Underwood growled.

Hunter nodded. "In order to prevent the perpetrator from harming his intended victim."

"How did you get your gun through security?" Underwood demanded.

"Probably the same way that Agent Masterson got through with his weapon," Hunter shrugged. "I approached security and identified myself as a police officer who is required to be armed at all times."

The two men coldly stared at each other for several seconds. Then Underwood turned the recorder off. "Chief Mannion, can I borrow someone to transcribe Captain Hunter's statement? I'd also like to review Mr. Sandburg's statement."

"Of course." Mannion escorted the FBI agent to the door, then looked back at Hunter. "Architecture of the Babylonians, Assyrians, and Sumerians, Captain?"

"Yes, sir. Very educational. I highly recommend it."

"Captain Banks? Chief Mannion here. I apologize for not being able to take your call earlier. I was waiting for completion of the questioning of both Mr. Sandburg and Captain Hunter." Chief Mannion sighed as he leaned back in his chair.

"I understand. I have you on speakerphone. Sandburg's partner, Detective Ellison, is here along with most of my unit." Simon glanced at the people in his office. "We've briefly spoken with Sandburg, but we're all concerned about this situation."

"Mr. Sandburg has given his statement," Mannion explained. "It's been reviewed by the FBI investigating agent and compared with Captain Hunter's. The FBI might have more questions later for Mr. Sandburg, but they've indicated he can return to Quantico."

"And **your** assessment?" Simon asked.

"Agent Masterson targeted Mr. Sandburg for some reason. Right now, the FBI is going through both his personal and professional files. I think they'll find the motive for the attack. There's been too much publicity for them to sweep it under the rug so I don't think your man has anything to worry about." He grinned, hearing the relieved sighs from the Cascade detectives.

"And Captain Hunter?" Simon asked.

"Both he and Mr. Sandburg have stated that not only did Agent Masterson ignore Captain Hunter's order, he continued the attack," Mannion reported. "Although the FBI might make some noises about Hunter making his shot a killing one rather than a wounding one, I don't think there will be any problem in ruling the shooting as justified."

"Please pass along our gratitude to Captain Hunter," Simon requested.

"I'll do that," Mannion chuckled. "He mentioned that he'd had some sort of problem with Mr. Sandburg's partner?"

Simon looked at Jim who cleared his throat.

"This is Detective Ellison. Let's just put it down to a difference of opinion." He ignored Megan's chuckle.

"I see." Mannion rubbed his chin. "Well, I'll certainly keep you informed, Captain Banks. The FBI and I will be making a joint statement in about an hour, but it'll basically cover what we've discussed."

"I appreciate it, Chief Mannion."

 **DAY THIRTEEN**

Blair resisted the temptation to slide further down in his chair. He'd been the subject of everyone's gaze from the moment he'd walked into the training room. Bernie had given him a sympathetic look then loudly wondered how the other teams were doing on their assignments. Tanner had just shrugged and drank his coffee. Maria had glared at a few of the closer individuals then reassuringly patted Blair's arm.

The room fell silent when the door opened and three men in matching haircuts and suits walked in.

"Good morning. I'm Agent Craig Underwood. This is Agent Fred Walker and Agent Michael Polsen." Underwood waited until everyone's eyes were on him. "As you know, Agent Masterson was shot and killed last Saturday while attempting an armed assault on Consultant Blair Sandburg."

Blair winced as everyone stared at him.

"Our investigation so far has indicated that Agent Masterson was a victim of his work," Underwood continued. "Profilers can unfortunately become the very sort of person they profile. I'm afraid that Mr. Sandburg wasn't Agent Masterson's first victim."

"Holy shit," Tanner muttered. He looked at Blair with a measure of surprise.

"Agents Walker and Polsen will be conducting the rest of your training," Underwood explained. "Mr. Sandburg, Mr. Tanner, Mr. McDonald, Ms. Prince. I'd like to see you outside."

Glancing at one another, they rose to their feet and followed Underwood out of the room. Underwood closed the door behind them and led the way to the cafeteria. Motioning to a nearby table, he grabbed a chair for himself. Once they were all seated, he looked at Blair. "For what it's worth, you have the Bureau's deepest apologies."

Blair nodded. "The shooting was justified. What's going to happen to Captain Hunter?"

"Most likely nothing," Underwood admitted. "From what our investigation has uncovered so far, Masterson kept an eye on certain people who graduated from his program. Anyone who showed a special talent for profiling became his victim." He sadly shook his head. "I've know Carl for almost fifteen years. I never would have thought he'd crack like this."

"Our last assignment," Tanner interrupted. "The bast…he was letting us profile **him**!"

Underwood nodded. "Any team whose members indicated they might be good enough got that class assignment. If they provided a correct profile, they became potential targets."

Maria nodded in silent admiration, then smiled at Blair. "Sorry, Blair."

Tanner grunted. "Guess it didn't pay this time to be the teacher's pet…huh, Sandburg?"

"This team has excelled with your assignments," Underwood continued. "You can graduate now and your certificates will be sent to you. Or you can stay and work on other assignments for the duration of this class."

"Thanks, but I'll head home," Tanner immediately answered. "Things are a lot simpler in New York."

"No offense, but I think I'll go home as well," Bernie grinned. "What can I say? Chicago…she's my kinda town."

Blair smiled. "Me, too."

"Make it four," Maria nodded.

Underwood smiled. "I thought you'd say that." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled our four airline tickets. "You've all done well."

Tanner looked at his ticket, then leaned over the table to view Maria's. "Damn, we're on the same flight."

Maria ignored him, turning to look at Underwood. "Masterson said some in the class were plants. Was there a plant on our team?"

"Sorry about that."

Blair, Maria, and Tanner all looked at Bernie.

"The name's Bernie Greene. I'm from the Chicago branch of the FBI." Bernie stared at Blair. "And I apologize, too, Sandburg. Maybe you wouldn't have become a target if I hadn't bragged so much about you to Masterson." 

Blair hesitated, then shrugged. "Don't worry about it. My partner would be the first to tell you that it probably would've happened anyway."

 _'You've reached the Ellison-Sandburg residence...that's the Sandburg-Ellison residence...leave a name and number...man, that's just not friendly...'_

"Jim, it's me. I've left this same message on your voice mail at work and on your cell. I'm okay, understand? But I'm comin' home today. My flight gets in at 10:58 tonight. Air Western Flight 627. Pick me up, okay? I'll tell you all about it when I get there. But everything's okay. 'Bye."

Blair closed his cell phone and sighed. He got in line behind a woman and two young children…all of which were complaining about standing in line to pass through security.

 _'Home. I'm going home. I passed the FBI course and those credentials will shut up some people at the Department.'_ He shuffled forward two feet then stopped again. Ignoring the complaining from the woman in line ahead of him, he smiled. _'I'm going home.'_

A man sitting in the lounge area carefully watched Blair's progress from behind a copy of the Washington Post. When the young man finally cleared security, he folded the paper and tossed it onto the seat next to him. He patiently waited and watched the arrival and departure board. When the board indicated that Blair's plane had left, he waited another five minutes just to make sure Blair didn't come back into the terminal, having missed his flight for some reason.

Sighing with relief, he pulled out his cell phone and quickly entered a phone number. When the call was answered, he spoke. "It's Hunter, and I wonder if I'll ever know the truth about all this. But Sandburg's on the plane back to Cascade. Dinner tomorrow night at seven pm at _Skouros_. Call me if you're not going to make it."

Blair eagerly looked out the window as the plane approached Cascade. He impatiently tapped his foot and watched as the city lights grew closer and closer. As the plane's tires touched the runway, he saw the airport parking garage flash past his window. Grinning, he leaned back in his seat.

 _'I may not be able to see in the dark like you do, Jim, but I'll bet you were on the roof watching me land.'_

Jim hurriedly turned towards the parking garage elevator, then decided to take the stairs. He needed to get to Sandburg's gate before the younger man arrived, looking for him. He shivered slightly in the darkness as a cold wind blew across the roof of the parking garage.

Barely coming to a stop as people began walking through security into the main terminal area, Jim took a deep breath to control his breathing. A few minutes later, he grinned when he saw Blair approaching, wearing a wide grin.

Blair stopped in front of Jim and stared up at him.

"Just answer one question, Darwin. Did you wash out or graduate early?"

Blair flung both of his arms out to either side of his body and chuckled. "What do you think?"

Jim grabbed his partner in a hug and ruffled the younger man's hair. "That's my little eager beaver," he laughed.

" **HEY**!"

"Thanks for the ride." Kevin glanced over at the beautiful blonde behind the wheel of the cherry red convertible that was speeding along I-95.

"Not a problem. The restaurant's on my way. There are a couple of new clubs I want to check out."

"Lexi…"

The young woman playfully laughed. "I'm a big girl. I can handle myself."

"I was about to say 'Lexi, don't break all those hearts in one night'," Kevin teased.

Lexi expertly exited the interstate and slowed to match the speed of the city traffic.

"Lexi? Where's Herm? I can't seem to find him anywhere."

Lexi sighed as they came to a red light.

Kevin wasn't sure if the sigh was a response to his question or to the red light. Lexi hated to wait for anything.

"Now, Kevin, he didn't mean it. We've all talked with him, and he understands that he made a little mistake." Lexi stared at him with big blue eyes.

Kevin leaned closer. "I'm not your husband or my brother. That look doesn't work on me. Remember?"

Lexi pouted and pressed her foot down hard on the accelerator. "Now you're just being mean."

"If I promise to leave Herm alone, will you slow down?" Kevin offered in a slight panic.

"Sure."

Kevin saw the light ahead change to yellow. "Okay! I promise to leave Herm alone!"

Lexi hit the brakes causing the tires to squeal as they stopped at the red light. When Kevin glared at her, she blew him a kiss.

"The restaurant's a couple of blocks further," Kevin explained. "You can let me out at the next light."

"Okay," Lexi cheerfully agreed.

"And don't think I've forgotten that you've reneged on your promise," Kevin warned.

"What promise?" Lexi indignantly answered.

"Hunter. Vincent…not Ian," Kevin clarified, referring to one of their associates.

Lexi pouted a second time. "It's not that easy! The man has **no** social life whatsoever. He gets up in the morning, goes to work, and then goes back to that dreary apartment! Do you have any idea just how tough it is to make something happen when I have to work with that kind of restrictions?"

"He deserves it," Kevin quietly argued.

"I know he does," Lexi nodded as she slowed for the next light. "Consider it a work in progress, honey." When the car stopped and Kevin opened the door, she patted him on the arm. "I promise. I'm not giving up on him."

Kevin leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "I'll catch a cab back to the hotel."

"Let me know if the food's any good! Maybe we can all eat there some night." She impishly grinned. "The name of the restaurant is familiar, you know?"

Kevin ruefully shook his head and closed the car door. Waving, he watched as she turned the corner and drove away. "Those poor guys don't know that trouble's on the way in a red convertible," he muttered.

Quickly walking down the block, he was surprised to see Hunter waiting at the door for him. "Hey, Vin! How's it going?"

Hunter stared at him then slowly shook his head. "You must be crazy."

"Oh?"

"Getting out of a convertible driven by a beautiful blonde just to have dinner with **me**?"

Kevin slowly grinned. "She's my sister. Sort of."

Hunter was visibly surprised. " **That** was your sister?" 

"Sort of." Kevin grinned. "Her father. My mother. That gives us a half-brother in common." He glanced at the restaurant's conservatively illuminated sign. "I didn't know you liked Greek food."

"It's my favorite," Hunter shrugged as he opened the door.

"It's been ages since I've had any good Greek food," Kevin admitted. _'Well…well…well. Maybe he's starting to unbend enough to be friends.'_

"You'll love the food here." Hunter looked over his shoulder. "And don't call me Vin."

 _'Or not.'_

Melinda Holley

March 2005


End file.
